A little over a week ago, my ship was cursed by a landlubber. The bastard laid a good one on us, too. We knew it at the time-most of the crew heard the curse, but we hoped it would be one of those weak fuckers that you can brush off after a day. Not.
I believe I mentioned the wrath of the gods at crew-x. Thunder, lightning and driving rain called down upon us at the exact moment we stepped out on the deck of our crew boat to grab the rope and swing across to our ship. Have I ever mentioned this new addition to my commute? In addition to the various planes, cars, trucks, limos, buses, ships, helicopters, trains, rickshaws, sampans and dugout canoes I commute on, I have to swing like fucking Tarzan getting chased by white safari dicks with guns, across the gap between ships as the final leg of my journey. Really, you should hear my Tarzan yell-it would curdle your blood if the sight of my fat ass swinging on the end of a rope hadn’t already done the trick. Yeah, it’s a –wait, I digress, as usual...cursed, I was-am.
So, the curse became evident as we realized a couple of extra hours stuck on a crew boat, starving and hung-over. The curse continues. Last night, after a particularly rough 12 hr shift, I couldn’t sleep for about 4 hours. An hour an half after that, the fire alarms go off and I have to muster down on deck in my jimmies and life jacket. False alarm-back to bed an hour later. Not a good night. Then, this morning I find the fresh water has been shut off-no shower. I am NOT a happy pirate today.
Now get your asses over to FTTW and read my column-I’m not in the mood for anything else.